Tomorrow
by witnesstoitall
Summary: "Maybe tomorrow." It was the same thing she said to him each night, only she was no longer sure what she meant by it. A year after the fall of the prison, the survivors are still trying to find a place to call home. [Rosita/Glenn, Glenn/Maggie]


It hadn't quite been a year since her group had run across Glenn and Tara on that god forsaken red dirt road in the middle of Georgia. At least that's the way she figured it. The weather then had just been starting to warm up after what had been a cold, wet winter, and winter was once again in full swing. Settling back against the musty, threadbare sofa, she pulled her jacket across her chest and sighed under her breath. She hated the winter – always had, but that last one on the road, sandwiched between Abraham and Eugene in their Humvee, had solidified her distaste for the season. She was a Texan, born and raised. She didn't _do_ the cold. How her cards had lined up to land her in Atlanta when the world decided on its abrupt about face, she'd always question, but glancing around the trailer she and Glenn had taken refuge in, she was grateful for the hand she'd been dealt.

There was no question. The trailer itself was a dump – there were grotesque water marks across the ceiling and down the walls causing the faded paper to peel away at the corners, what upholstery remained over the furniture was littered with cigarette burns and mystery crust, and the faux porcelain in the bathroom was stained red-orange from years of hard water build up. She imagined that this was the sort of environment the kids she used to teach had come from, and her heart wrenched in her chest at the thought of calling this shithole home. The truth was that before all of this, she would never have stayed in a place like this, but the world had changed and as dumpy as it was, the trailer kept the wind off their backs and gave them a place to rest. The living didn't have the luxury of being choosy anymore.

"Food for your thoughts?"

Rosita jumped as the voice crashed through her thought. Looking up to find Glenn standing with a can in one hand and a chipped ceramic bowl in the other, she slid over to make room for him on the sofa. "Oh, it's nothing," she said, choosing the can and offering him a grateful nod. "Just lost in thoughts, you know? Oh my god, this is actually hot." Her exclamation was a mixture of surprise and delight. Truthfully, she couldn't remember the last time they'd had something warm to eat. Pulling her sleeve down over her hand she adjusted her grip on the can, pleased to find it filled with red beans. "How'd you manage this?" she asked, eying him as he bent at the knees and sank down into the sofa. Ever since the night that Tara … well, they didn't take the risk to light a fire anymore.

"Found a welding torch in that old shed when I was out looking around for supplies," Glenn grinned, settling back and taking a large bite from his bowl.

Rosita could tell that he was pleased with himself and had to keep herself from poking fun at his pride. Mimicking his action, she scooped a bite of beans onto her spoon. It was moments like these that were the hardest – sitting shoulder to shoulder over dinner, tucked away safe from both the walkers and the horrendous noises the wind was making against the tin siding of the trailer. It'd be so easy for her to close her eyes and envision a slightly different scenario: One where Glenn's eyes didn't look quite so sad or exhausted, where she could curl up against his warmth because he wanted her to and not because they'd die of hypothermia if they didn't sleep close.

A nudge from his shoulder pulled her from her thoughts once more.

"You know, those beans'll do you more good if you actually eat them," Glenn said, nodding towards to the bite of beans still hovering on her spoon, a look of concerned pulled across his brow. "They may even still be hot that way. You sure you're okay?"

She felt him shift to face her and she shoved the spoon into her mouth, choking the now-cold bean sludge down. "I'm fine," she insisted, chancing a glance up to meet his eyes. "I swear, Glenn. I'm just tired – this weather blows, and I'm probably PMS'ing."

Glenn's face scrunched up into an _I-didn't-need-to-know-that _look and he shook his head. "We can stay here for another day or two. Try and wait out the weather. It's –" his voice faltered – "it's not like we've got a trail to follow. Maybe after a few days, our minds'll be clearer. Maybe we'll see something."

She wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but somewhere along the way his _maybes_ had lost their air of confidence and had begun sounding increasingly mechanical. "Maybe," she responded slowly. "This is as good a place as any to spend a few days if that's what you wanna do." As she spoke she raised her hand and gently brushed a section of his hair back from his face, holding his eye contact as she did. Leaning forward, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheekbone before turning her focus back to the can in her hand. "Or we can keep moving." She shrugged, polishing off the last of her beans and standing up to stretch. "Either is fine by me."

"Or we can keep moving," Glenn frowned and murmured after her, his hand hovering over the spot where she'd kissed him. It wasn't the first time she'd done that, but each time it seemed to leave him unsettled.

"Hey, we don't need to decide anything tonight. I gotta go check our perimeter and I'll be back inside. You oughta get some rest." Rosita said as she traded her handgun for his rifle, her hand lingering warmly over his knee. "Maybe tomorrow."

It was the same thing she said to him each night before one of them made a lap around wherever it was they were staying. She'd originally meant that maybe tomorrow would be the day they found Maggie, then maybe tomorrow they'd pick up some sort of trail. Now she wasn't sure what she meant by it, but maybe tomorrow would be the day for whatever it was.

"Tomorrow," Glenn replied same as he always did.

She didn't look over her shoulder at him as she made her way out from the trailer.

~::~

Tucked away in the warmth of her room, Maggie rolled over and pulled the soft down of the comforter up under her chin. Most nights, the sound of the waves against the shore offered a sort of comfort, but tonight the incessant rise and fall of the tide only seemed to crawl its way up under her skin and set her on edge. Sleep, it seemed, was as far away as her memories of the farm and prison. Judging by the season, it'd been a little less than a year since they'd been forced to flee the prison and at least that much longer since her childhood home had fallen. Exhaling deeply, she buried her face into her pillow. She knew she ought to be content here, and usually, she was. Savannah was a safe town full of good people. It was just the nights like this one, when her bed felt empty that it was also full of ghosts.


End file.
